


Muscat

by wildechilde17



Series: The business trilogy [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Dates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildechilde17/pseuds/wildechilde17
Summary: Clintasha Advent Calendar Day Eleven: Dates





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jencat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencat/gifts), [Aslajade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aslajade/gifts), [Lastavica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lastavica/gifts), [taldragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taldragon/gifts).



On their third day in Oman, he returns to the rooms they have taken for the stakeout with a large bag of dates.  She does not know where he got them from and does not ask.  She hopes it means an end to the endless protein bars he consumes. 

She gives him her report.  Nothing has happened, nothing it seems will ever happen across from the rooms in Oman.  She leaves him to his shift.  She heads to the other room to sleep.  It is hot and smells of sandalwood. 

On their fourth day in Oman she notes, at the changing of their shifts, the decimated bag of dates.  They are both covered in a fine film of sweat and the ceiling fan, constant in its rhythmic chopping of the air, does nothing to cool them.  It is like sitting in front of a hair dryer, though nothing ever seems to get dry.  The loose hair that she has failed to gather into her bun curls tightly upon itself in the puddles behind her ears. 

He is shirtless as he pads around the small room.  They do not talk, Hawkeye’s usual chatter decreasing in perfect correlation to each degree increase in the temperature. There is a thin layer of fat between the hard muscles of his abdomen and his browned skin and there is something in that that makes her feel more comfortable that she would have thought possible.

He leaves her to fall on to the thin mattress and to sleep to the sound of the Baiza buses in the street below. He leaves her with sticky cups still smelling of kahwa and cardamom.

Three hours into her shift, he moans.

Four hours into her shift he takes up residence in the small poorly tiled bathroom.  She lights a stick of sandalwood and listens as he speaks of sugarless jelly bears and their demonic similarities to dates. 

Five hours into her shift she finds him slumped against the too close sink, half asleep with his pants around his ankles.  He is as ridiculous as he is disgusting.

She wakes him and orders him into the bed.  He curls into the fetal position. The sun has moved lower in the sky, a time Hawkeye has called Top Gun mood lighting.  The sun throws shadows through the vertical blinds making prison bars across his body and up the wall.

She returns to the equipment. He begins to snore. She bites down on one of the few remaining dates, chewing to destroy the smile that has insinuated its way onto her face.

She allows him to sleep several hours into his shift.

After extraction, her report contains no mention the dates.

**Author's Note:**

> So my Clint and Natasha have never been the kind of people to go on dates. And they were in love after they had gone through all the insanity of getting to know someone. If you have that intimacy do you really need dinner and a movie?. So my dates are dates.


End file.
